Fiction: DIVYANG RAY

Stuck to his wheel chair since his memory took off he has
not been straining his mind over what befell him. That’s not the way you live your life, do
you? ,he asked himself very early. Since
then he never looked back. May be,
that’s why he never felt a sting of weariness or agony whenever he saw youth
going about their chores in full fettle or children at play in school where he
enjoyed watching them from the sidelines.
To be in the sidelines is only a state of mind, right? When the sun rises untiringly in the east
every day and goes about its orbit then why not me? he said aloud working on his mobile net which
brought a world of what zaniest things one would want to know. He had his laptop too where he wheeled
himself to see, store and channelize a reservoir of info into profitable
activity.

Sadanand, 24, saw off his post-graduation in mathematics
with distinction but deep in the recesses was an unrelenting inclination
towards literary forms, especially poetry.
Being the only son of Parameswaran, an auditor with a wide, well
developed clientele in Palakad, he spent his formative, creamy years in the
western part of Kerala honing his cognitive skills in a closed, enthusiastic
circle of college mates. Set into a
clipboard routine he sang his vedic hymns in the morning, went to college and
poured over an array of statistical and mathematical problems in the evening. And he would chat on mobile with his close
friend and neighbor, Asokan who was his fellow student in the discipline. They always visited the Shiv temple in the
vicinity when Asokan would wheel him around, sit in the space within the temple
premises and discuss maths. Sadanand
would return in his car when the loyal, long serving driver and Asokan would
help him get back home. Parameswaran had
a separate entrance for his son’s easy access to his room. And Sadanand would remain there, ensconced in
what he did or wanted to do.

Sadanand loved watching the twinkling stars and felt as if
it was winking at him to convey a message – “Man…..this cosmos is millions of
years old and like all creative rhythms cannot say and vouch for a theory how
it all happened. It is and ever will be
a cause for wonder though new technologies and creative missions to unravel its
mystery will be undertaken. Still the
aura of mystery will remain.” He smiled
reminding himself. “You are just a speck
in life but can you see that it turns into a momentous sparkle that brings a
world of meanings only to you?”

He poured over a couple of IT returns that two medium sized
companies had given to his father and took a few minutes to deduce the tax
liabilities and the refunds that could possibly accrue from the data. He spoke to Asokan, who worked in one of
them, and mailed the data. Both wanted
to showcase their talent in something big and better – preferably a statistical
institute or a software firm where they could create a pool to centralize the
data on staff strength, product features and market influences. Asokan kept telling him “Sada…..why don’t we
focus on the micro factors more, regular fluctuations in retail trade and even
more regular global pressures on it? It
will give us a springboard to see the larger macro things playing out and help
suggest flexible policy initiatives?”

Sadanand nodded.
Both had done extremely well in their post-graduation and were much in
demand. “Asokh……I want to get into the
Indian Statistical Institute but that could be a tall order for us both…..It
may or may not work but we both must aim for it. I am not looking forward to a day when you
will be working in some metro and me elsewhere….. It will upset the applecart. Together we can do things far better than
separately.” Asokan knew he meant it
and always felt that fate could will it otherwise. Both had immense faith in their abilities and
the somber air of harmony work brought between them.

……………….

Being the only son Sadanand knew his father’s enormous clout
as an auditor in the area and outside and had never felt the pinch of purse
strings. Financially they were well
placed, he knew but he also understood that he was not going to live on
inherited legacy. At some stage in the
future he might be alone to pursue his life, not necessarily in terms of the
emotional cost that loneliness would bring because he had his close friend and
also a bevy of relations who peeped in infrequently to renew their bonds. “End of the day your pursuit, whatever it is,
is lonely, isn’t it? Or there is a
private world of yours where despite the constant remonstrations and counseling
of your loving kin you are left to yourself?” he muttered with a rueful smile. It was a human condition from which there was
no escape.

He remembered telling Asokan once in a contemplative mood “ everything is transient boss….right? All discoveries, scientific and mathematical,
complimented each other but were always modified, illustrated or even dismissed
by a fresh chain of findings based on empirical data. What remains constant is speculation……” he
chuckled when he said that and went on “ or to put it in a grandiose way
sublime contemplation?” Asokan was
always down to earth. “Come on Sada……It
has to be. Newton was just gazing at the
tree when the fruit fell. And
Aryabhatta did convert his contemplation into mathematical equations which
still matter.”

Sadanand was not convinced.
“Be that as it may, Asokh there is some undercurrent of uncertainty
about life which circulates around us like a noxious, ethereal element with a Faustian touch. I sure feel we must leave something
behind…..but even if we do it will have the fresh fragrance of a rose
fleetingly before time consumes it.”

Asokan jabbed his right fist on his shoulder. And grinned.
“Sada….have you ever given a thought to how long what we leave behind
lasts? You wont because it is not
material…..Simply put, you won’t live to see it. Let us live in and for the moment.”

…………………..

It all came in a flash of lightning to him. Sadanand always wanted to convert that flash
into verbal pattern before it vanished like fireflies. That is, put it down in words lest he lost
track of it.

“The blinding ray
of lightning was lost in

the menacing
rumble of thunder; the sky

shrouded in dark spread hissed of imminent

downpour before a strong gust blew it away.

The sky turned pale at its own impotence

to moisten the expectant earth; And many

hearts stewed in pain of parched hope.

A moment swept in a tide of uncertainty?”

He went back to it over and over again not because he was
able to capture the embroidery of words and images enshrined in it but the
state of mind he was in. He was hard
minded enough to fling aside any rush of pessimism or fatalism that people
would come up with on reading it if it ever saw the light of print. States of mind are too deep like life or
cosmos itself for any sweeping, earthy and superficial generalizations. Uncertainty, he felt, was an inherent
characteristic of life howsoever one might try to wish it away. He also knew that certainty was the other
side of the coin and one led to the other.
Scientific discoveries were facts, he muttered, but they also led to
questions that were inherent in it but never asked. So also, were mathematical precepts.

The line of verse that flashed in his mind reached its
summation. In a few minutes he saw that
the baby was full born, healthy and lily fresh.

He toyed with the idea of sending it to a poetry contest
or exclusive poetry web sites. For a
contest there would be hundreds of entries and the tired, opinionated or
impulsive judge would pick randomly the best and feel happy with himself. “If it is unwrapping of the mind or emotion
the latter matters more than dazzling images which could be an attempt at
embroidery. Oh! If I think that way a
wisecrack will call it sour grapes.” He
laughed to himself. “Who cares?” he
thought aloud. “This is my baby and I am
thrilled with it.” So he googled, picked
out a list of contests-bound web sites and sent them simultaneously. And forgot all about it.

A few months later Asokan came rushing in. “Sada!
An IT firm in Bangalore has called us to organize their data network for
the farm produce they have been dealing with for rural farmers in adjoining
areas. The pay is good yaar… they have
agreed to your request to work from home.
They will set up the system wherever we rent a place. “ He
paused for breath. “Boy! Looks like this
could be our dream project or at least the one we looked for. “

Sadanand was delighted.
“Wasn’t this the one we applied for two months ago? I had almost shelved it, boss.”

Asokan grinned.
“It is always things that you shelve return in another form. Let us speak to your dad.”

Parameswaran came, weighed through the letters of
appointment and affectionately patted both.
“Their perks are also in tune with a medium sized firm, but it doesn’t
matter. If you succeed in creating a
data system that could facilitate their marketing and processing of farm
products they could set up branches in other areas too. Sada!
This is what you both need. What
makes me happier is that the job keeps you both in the same place.”

Sadanand turned to his pal. “Asokh… what did your dad say?” “He is mighty pleased yaar…” said
Asokan. He spoke to his dad. “Appa…we have to be there in two weeks. Have to fix up accommodation…” Parameswaran
cut in. “Don’t worry about that. I have a friend who will fix it up for you
both. “

Just when the message was beginning to sink in like a
belated monsoon Sadanand had opened his mail but not the inbox on his mobile
having been distracted by the news. He
disinterestedly clicked on the inbox and the first mailer left him dumb
founded. He found it too incongruous to
be true. Caught in a pipeline of
conflicting emotions he quietly asked his friend to take a look.

It was a prestigious poetry contest held every year and the
winners had their hour of reckoning with a bit of media glare too! Sadanand’s poem had made it to the summit and
been adjudged the best.

Asokan’s eyes widened in disbelief and he turned to
Parameswaran. “Uncle…..is this double
whammy or what? Or is it one of those
bolts from the blue? “ He put his arm around his friend’s shoulder,
whose face was a portrait of indigestible surprise. Parameswaran was inevitably delighted with
the news and shook the hands of both his son and Asokan.

“Well…I didn’t know Sada wrote poetry … even if I did
wouldn’t have taken it seriously. But
back in my youth one English teacher, who was exceptionally good at literature,
used to say that Poetry or all forms of literature swirled in the realm of
uncertainty, its agonies, and occasional pleasures. Of course, we used to think then he was being
philosophical. After all we believed in certainty.
“ He gave a laugh. “We chartered accountants do…. Any way you
both have to go to Chennai to receive the award. After all you are inseparable. Note the date.”

Sadanand and Asokan exchanged glances with a smile. The smile revealed a lot more to them which
Parameswaran couldn’t fathom. That’s the
essence of uncertainty?

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